


kanlungan

by makeshiftrolley



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-07 17:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeshiftrolley/pseuds/makeshiftrolley
Summary: home is a strange word. home is earth. home is california, in the sierra madre where you grew up watching the stars. home is the bungalow with the picket fence and the backyard with the telescope, where your father’s father’s father made his start, four generations ago.(or alec ryder's reflection of his life.)





	1. saranggola

she’s dr. ellen reyes.

you meet at an alliance gala in rio through a friend of a friend of a friend or something. she has stardust on her skin and starlight in her eyes; you ask her for a dance.

later, you find out she’s dr. maria cristina elena ocampo reyes which is as filipino as juan alejandro elias panginiban ryder jr. now, twenty years past your childhood, you hear  _jun_  and  _junjun_ and the worst,  _jun x2_  uttered in the depths of your cerebral cortex.

at least, they don’t call you,  _boy,_ juan sr. tells you at fifteen while discussing filipino nicknames at dinner. at sixteen, you renounce  _jun_  and becomes  _alec._ at seventeen, you swear off naming your son,  _juan alejandro elias_ , if you’ll have a son.


	2. ewan

you name your second born, juan alejandro elias ryder iii.

first born in all but technicalities-a younger twin to a sister ellen has named after a heroine, gabriela maxine leonora.

two months later, they nickname him, jean. isn’t it  _john_? you ask. your mother insist it’s  _jean_. filipino nicknames, at least they don’t call him  _boy._


	3. magbalik

they’re five years old when you bring them home.

(home is a strange word. home is earth. home is california, in the sierra madre where you grew up watching the stars. home is the bungalow with the picket fence and the backyard with the telescope, where your father’s father’s father made his start, four generations ago.

home is bulacan, in the sierra madre where you never stayed long enough to see the stars. home is malolos, a city which never changes with the times. home is the rice field, barasoain and the market place you can never remember but you know the smells and sounds deep in your heart.)

ellen asks to bring them home, and you realize you don’t have one.

you bring them to malolos where your father’s father left three generations ago for his american dream and never came back. 

you bring them here so they can see your start. 

(and so they don’t make the same mistake as you did.)


	4. panalangin

seven year olds shouldn’t learn how to shoot a gun on their birthdays. seven year olds have a party akin to a debut at eighteen or twenty-one. at least, in the old days, before the prothean device, before the wars that led the continents to redraw lines.

you take them to a shooting range for their seventh birthday, your gift to them, a compensation for missing so much of their lives. 

“gabriela, no,” you say after she misses all her targets for the tenth time. you snatch her gun. “you hesitate too much.”

her lips tremble. “i tried my best!”

“you didn’t,” you shake your head. “just look at your brother.”

jean fires with a precision you only see among trained soldiers. he shoots all the targets; he just turned seven years old.

he has a soldier’s heart. he's perfect for the alliance and you think he's going to make it all the way through.

jean slides down his goggles which are too big for his head. "did i do something wrong?"

"no, son, you were perfect," you say. 

your son smiles and you recall all the times you held him and all the times you didn't. fatherhood is not your strongest quality but you see the warmth in your son's eyes and you think it's enough.

(you ignore gabriela. you ignore her silent cries after you have tossed her away like a soiled rug.) 


End file.
